


Discipline

by grayorca15, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Triverse [3]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca15/pseuds/grayorca15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: AU/Crossover. Nothing is an answer in itself.





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> More drabble/missing scenes from _Trifecta_. This one fits nicely into the August-November break in chapter two.
> 
> Because writing these two at odds never gets old. As does going against the fandom generalization of Connor being a “pure, perfect bean”.
> 
> This just in: he’s not.
> 
> #whocares

As much as things could be stressful, this fulfilled promise of downtime could almost make the endurance worth it.

Lying belly down on the edge of the footbridge, Nick had his eyes half closed, half open with the simple pleasure of how warm it was in the garden. It was the perfect temperature, not too hot, but with enough of a breeze that it was pleasant, even in direct sunlight. With one hand dangling off the side of the bridge, his fingers traced patterns through the water’s surface, lazily moving back and forth to let the koi follow along.

Stretching his legs out further, head resting against the cool tile, Nick let out a sigh as he continued to watch the koi, moving a bit away as soon as they tried to nibble at his fingers. That was okay. Not like their teeth would ever hurt.

If only he could stay like this forever.

But then again, fate liked interrupting his most ideal moments - over and over and over again. Somehow that faceless entity got a laugh out of it.

Because Connor would barely admit to a smile, let alone a chuckle, fate filled in the blanks. His idea of pleasant company amounted to a cold shoulder following casting an imposing shadow on the scene.

The koi jigged and scattered at the first distorted reflection of him upon the pond.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Nick turned around and looked up, squinting to see Connor's face as he stood there, practically leaning over him - of course, without any aforementioned smile. There would be no reason, ever, that he would ever show him that.

"Oh… hi." Not having anything more to say, he awkwardly left it at that for a moment. "It's… nice, here, today."

Kind of a redundant statement. It was never not nice in the garden, exactly.

Hands behind his back, looking as cool and composed as ever, Connor at least feigned a slow glance around, humoring the remark. The angle of the artificial sun cast his face in more shadow than light, lending his profile a hawkish glare.

Did he always have to look so serious?

“So I see. Don’t you have marksmanship trials to be attending to now?”

There was _always_ something he was supposed to be attending or doing. But how could he be reasonably expected to follow through on something like that, when he was being tempted by the garden, to just lay down and enjoy the day?

Plus, he was always terrible at marksmanship. And hand-to-hand combat, and forensics, and negotiation… pretty much everything. More trials wouldn't fix such a lack of talent and skill on his part.

Grimacing up at him, Nick shrugged the question away the best he could. "Uhm… probably, you know, I'm not sure… I really just wanted to come here and enjoy the koi."

It was just the kind of carefree response he knew rankled his primary’s nerves to no end. Connor didn’t need to broadcast disgust, or disbelief, or any such faked reaction of negativity. It served no purpose when a blank, unaffected stare was all his words were being met with.

If it were really such a problem, Amanda could just lock the mind palace up. Both of them knew this. Whatever time it was taking to enter report mode, it was keeping Connor from whatever pressing obligations he had on the outside, too.

Couldn’t they just go their separate ways this once?

Unfortunately mutual stubbornness wouldn’t so easily allow for it.

“For how long? Indefinitely?”

"No, not - just for a little while longer." Averting his eyes back to the scattered koi for a moment, Nick shrugged his deflection. Why did it really matter? He wasn't stopping Connor from doing what he wanted, or bringing up the fact he was in the garden as well… because they both had a right to be there. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be an option.

He fully expected to be lectured in the next breath, browbeaten with the importance of sticking to one’s regimen. It was a prime opportunity for it, especially with Dennis absent. His presence usually served to placate Connor’s temper, even as the latter didn’t call regard it so.

But if the shoe fit…

“You think CyberLife has given up on you, is that it?”

Starting at the words, Nick opened his mouth, before closing it when nothing came out. What could he say to that? Had they? He hadn't really thought about it, but if Connor was bringing it up…

"I - I dunno, do you think they have? I just - am not good at any of the trials, I didn't even think about that."

With the barest raise of an eyebrow, Connor seemed to pause and consider his response at length. Rather than jump right in with the critiques, he hesitated. That was encouraging in its own right.

None of them wanted to be divided if they could help it. _Them_ included _him_.

“I wonder, if they haven’t, why that is. Deficient machinery seems like a considerable expense the program would do well to discard. And yet here you are.”

Well. Taking that in for a moment, Nick wilted at the words. He wasn't exactly surprised that that was how Connor saw him, but it still didn't feel any better to have it said out loud. "Um… I don't really know why. Not sure about that. I don't really - think I'm deficient, at least."

The expectant silence that ensued inadvertently demanded more of an explanation. When it became clear none was coming, Connor unfolded his arms only to recross them over his chest.

His words went a few degrees cooler to match: “In what regard?”

"I - I mean, why should I… have to be? I know I'm not good at the things we do, but…" Trailing off, Nick winced as he thought. Of course that would mean he _was_ deficient, though - it was what he was made for, and he couldn't do it right. "I don't know. I don't want to call myself that."

Once more, Connor ignored the very obvious and tempting chance to lay on the discrediting. He wasn’t asking for the sake of harassment or bullying. Rather, he seemed intent on getting to the core of the matter, wherever it lay.

Textbook investigator, in other words.

“So, what is it you do think you bring to the table? CyberLife has their answer, and they may well be right to withhold it. But if they were to ask _you…_ ”

The deliberate trailing-off couldn’t be unintentional.

Now that was a question he really didn't wanna consider at the moment. What could he say? What exactly was his purpose in their group, what did he bring to the table? Nothing immediately jumped to mind. "I… don't know what. I mean… it has to be something… just - not something I can think of?"

“You can’t be that useless, Nicholas. _Think_.”

"I don't - please, don't say that, or call me that." Cringing back from the sentence, Nick at least made an effort to think of just what Connor wanted him to say. Surely he wasn’t that dumb. There had to be some merit to his presence here, a logic which hadn’t yet made itself apparent. "I don't know, I'm not sure, it's something."

The tension between them seemed to ratchet up a few levels. Connor’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth bending down in a clearly-disapproving frown.

He only granted them a respite in glancing away, over the opposite side of the footbridge. With the slightest of micro movements, his irises tracked new targets somewhere off to the left - koi, presumably. His LED paled to yellow for a few moments, then circled back to cerulean.

“What did you think… of the deviant?”

"Of… Daniel?" Almost caught off guard by the change in conversation, Nick thought on just what he meant. It was preferable to grappling for answers where none lay, at least. "I mean… he seemed very upset. And - I mean, I know it was the mission, but he was upset you lied to him…"

Dying admissions held strong merit in most investigations. This wasn’t so different, right? And Amanda had pointed out as much. Lying had been a means to an end, to save Emma Phillips. Their mission was to resolve the situation.

How said resolution was achieved had been left up to them, and by extension, Connor. He was the one who went out there and talked Daniel into submission, of a kind. Establishing a false sense of trust ensured the girl wouldn’t suffer the same fate as her father.

What more was there to say?

Arms still folded, Connor didn’t answer for exactly another minute. Biting the inside of his lip, as if trying to hold off another frown, he blinked as if to reset focus, then looked back.

“Do you think it was right, to do what he did?”

"No, I don't think he was right for killing someone," Immediately the words came out, because it was true. No matter who it was, android or human - they didn't have any right to take a life. "But… I mean… it can at least be understandable why he was upset, afraid to be replaced. He did what he thought was right. That doesn't make it right."

They didn’t know the whole story, besides. On a surface level, Daniel seemed to be treated well enough by his owners. No criminal backgrounds for them, no overly-long service histories for him. Emma imprinted on him as an impressionable child her age would. She didn’t see a machine with a human’s face. To her there was no difference.

But her parents didn’t share the same perspective. John Phillips, seemingly by chance, decided it was time to upgrade from PL600 to AP700. It wasn’t a decision made for any other reason than modernity, moving with the times.

Daniel didn’t want to get left behind. He didn’t want to be parted from Emma.

Was that really all it took, a little upset and worst-case-scenario preconstruction to result in murder?

Androids were supposed to be better than that. They were meant to be infallible, reliable as a means of labor with no amount of backtalk or concerns to address. Whatever their model, each had their place.

Fear of losing it could run that strong? Cause that severe of a program break in seconds?

LED spinning as he called up the digital dossier, Connor recited what they had learned on scene: “Daniel acted impulsively, if not methodically. He knew John Phillips owned a gun. The moment he used it against the man he knew he would be destroyed. He grabbed Emma after it happened, according to Caroline’s 911 call. Officer Deckart prevented him from escaping, so Daniel shot him, too.”

And instead of running, Daniel went for the terrace, dragging Emma along as a shield.

An armed android cowering behind a little girl - it was as pathetic and absurd as it sounded.

Nick shrugged at the report, turning his attention back to the koi as they swam closer to the bridge. With the change in mood, they seemed to think it safe enough to return. "He knew what would happen… it's not like he was gonna live, anyways. Maybe he was just panicked, or something."

“ _Or something._ ”

Repeated with disdain as it was, Connor took a few steps closer. His shoes made only light clacks against the polished marble.

“If that’s all it takes to crack, why haven’t you thought to pick up a gun and shoot someone?”

How base.

Shaking his head at him, Nick tried to deny that as soon as it was said. He had never thought of that, never had it crossed his mind to try and shoot someone the way Daniel had, and he never would. There were no people in his life, besides Dennis and Connor, who could ever pose some kind of threat.

It wasn’t as if shooting CyberLife was an option.

"No, no, I - I wouldn't do that, I won't, don't say that, please."

The drawling voice loomed over his shoulder like an unwelcome eavesdropper. “You’re in an almost constant state of distress, over something. No amount of updates and reconfigurations seem to stem it. Why?”

" _Hey_ , stop it." Attempting to at least stop Connor in his tracks, Nick sat up, turned and scowled back at him. One second they were at least just having a semi-regular conversation, the next Connor decides to ask him demeaning questions for no reason. “Why do you have to ask? I’m not hurting anyone… and I never will.”

Naturally, he didn’t get an answer. It was met with only the same borderline glower as he usually saw. Being a little nervous was only natural when your partner was constantly looking at you like something foul stuck to his foot.

“The occasion you smacked that technician in the face wasn’t hurting anyone?”

"I didn't mean to, I wouldn't ever intentionally hurt anyone! It was a mistake, I said sorry, she said it was okay. You're just trying to make me feel bad, stop!" It wasn't fair, to bring up the one time he actually injured someone, because of a malfunction out of his control. There were cameras on that session, and diagnostic logs to boot. The tech, sporting only a bruise, never made a formal complaint. “ _Why_ are you asking? Are you just - trying to be mean?"

Tilting his head, Connor almost managed to look one shade closer to puzzled. It was the same kind of detached gaze through which one might view a microscope slide. That was preferable to aggression, by only slightly.

Something intangible behind his optics said different, though.

“If I said no, would you believe me?”

Well.

He did have a proven track record of lying.

"I… don't know." Nick admitted. As much as he wanted to believe Connor wasn't being mean for the sake of it, it wasn't like he could lie to himself when it was right there in front of him. What other reason was there, to say such a thing, talk down to him, ask such provoking questions?

It was getting a little old.

If this was what CyberLife intended, having partners to check their worst impulses, to maximize efficiency, it didn’t seem like the formula was keeping Connor so balanced-out. He couldn’t even admit to if these were all questions on his behalf, or on the part of others. Routines given reign to talk were all they seemed to be.

Nothing else would explain the series of changes. It was like ticking boxes on a checklist.

Did he have to stay so maddeningly clinical about it?

“You don’t know anything, it seems.”

"Maybe I don't." Giving up on the conversation, or any feeble hope of being able to turn it toward a more neutral subject, Nick turned away from Connor, letting his hand rest back in the pond. "Anything else?"

Half draped over the side of the bridge, a half roll away from twisting right off, he didn’t think there was any danger. He was content to label this discussion done, and the sooner forgotten, the better. Whatever it had all been for, he had done his part.

He didn’t count on the flat side of a shoe planting itself against his false rib cage, heel digging in just below the shoulder, shoving him over in one smooth motion. Sliding unchecked, all he could do was yelp and flail before his own body weight tipped him forward.

The fish scattered again the second before he hit the water.

Letting out a gasp he didn't need, Nick wiped at his eyes and face in some attempt to get water out of/off of himself. Turning around with a splash, floundering as he managed to resurface and grip the side of the footbridge, he whimpered up at Connor, half still unbelieving of just what had occurred.

What was the point of that?

Why did he have to be so downright _mean_ sometimes?

"W-why would you do that?" Nick asked, elbows hooked over the edge, trying to ignore any tears that were trying to build up. If he cried, Connor would only grow even more disdainful of him than he already was. Not that anything could tell, dripping wet as he now was, but the choked-up tone of voice, complete with a synthetic warble beneath, said everything.

Expression unchanged, as if nothing had happened at all, the shorter RK800 only glared, turned on his heel, and strode back across the walkway, toward land. The reflective accents of his jacket flashed angrily in the bright sunlight.

No answers.

Again.

Only more questions than before. The fish had fled to the depths where he couldn’t see them. Now there was mud in his shoes. And a sad, soaking wet uniform to match.

Mission accomplished, Connor.

Whatever it was.


End file.
